Page 28 of Voracious

“Okay, I’m hard and bored,” Phil says, slapping his thighs. “You can stop.”

I get down, rubbing my arm and staggering to the side a little.

“She isn’t consenting to any of this,” Chris says, which I find ironic. His eyes are on me as he keeps talking. “You only fuck her, and you’ll all wear protection. Don’t hit her, and don’t kiss her.”

“Ah, right. I forgot you said you wanted to get her pregnant.” The ginger one is smiling at my widening eyes as all three of them stand, way taller and bigger than me. “I wonder if she’ll cry this time – or at least stay awake. I loved her tears before.”

The three of them approach me, and Chris takes my hand delicately. “I’m sorry,” he mutters under his breath as he kisses my cheek, sliding something sharp into my palm.

10

KADE

This place is pretentious as fuck.

High ceiling with low lighting. Loud music with no one dancing but the people barely wearing any clothes on poles and those suspended bits of material Stacey dances with.

Douchebag men cheating on their wives while waitresses sit in their laps and accept money for touches.

I blow out a cloud of smoke as I stare at my surroundings. To the right of us, there’s a bar – but no one is standing at it. All the servers are rushing around, trying to tend to the rich wankers throwing around money like confetti.

For being full of millionaires, the place smells.

I almost want to turn my nose up, but I don’t want to draw any attention to myself.

Bernadette sits on my left in the booth, her daughter Cassie to my right, and they chat away like normal mother and daughter while a girl with a white mask covering her face dances to the slow, sensual song.

I don’t watch her – it feels wrong to watch. Especially since I know she’s drugged. It’s very likely that all the employees at this place are on some sort of drug.

My system is pretty fucking messed up right now too, which is maybe why I’m overanalysing my surroundings. Maybe this girl isn’t even on the mini stage in front of us?

I look down as both women place their hands on my thighs, still deep in conversation.

Removing them will cause more trouble than I need, but do I want to stub my cigarette out on their hands?

Fuck, yes.

Each booth is large, with leather seats, positioned in a half circle. There are mini pole-dancing stages in the middle of each booth, someone dancing around the pole while people watch – tossing some cash for a flash of tits. Bernadette loves it here – she wanted to bring Cassie, her insufferable daughter – and she’s already given me a migraine from talking.

Bernadette is still insisting that I marry her, and obviously, I’m still refusing. My dad is still locked up in solitary because of it though. Usually his punishment would make me give in, but I fucking can’t marry Cassie Sawyer.

I won’t.

I tell them I’m slipping to the bathroom, huff out a breath and shove my hands into my pockets, needing this night to be over already. Once I take a piss, I go left and head for the bar in the other room. It’s busier, louder, and music blares throughout while dancers twirl on poles and move around the groups of people as money is stuffed into the straps of their underwear.

I stop at the bar and order a drink, closing my eyes for a beat while I push through the overwhelming feeling of everything.

A throat clears to my left, and when I look, I see my assistant.

“Don’t make it obvious,” Barry says. “Look forward, sir.”

I grit my teeth and avert my eyes to my glass of whisky. “Please tell me you’re here with your wife.” He doesn’t have friends – he doesn’t see the point in them. And if he’s not here with Lisa, then that means…

“My wife who’s heavily pregnant? No.”

Fuck. “Where’s Stacey?”

He pauses and takes a drink of his water. “I have it under control, sir. Don’t draw any attention to her.”

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